


Scientific Inquiry

by longleggedgit



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about Watson requires extensive study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scientific Inquiry

**Author's Note:**

> From 2009. Ummm, basically Lizard started showing me her [gorgeous, gorgeous art](http://holmeswatson09.livejournal.com/118570.html?style=mine) and I wrote this little accompanying bit today. :D I love this pairing lkjfefe <3 Thanks to [](http://shes-gone.livejournal.com/profile)[**shes_gone**](http://shes-gone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/)**reallycorking** for looking it over for me!

Holmes has been watching Watson for some twenty-seven and a half minutes, and he can tell Watson knows it. It's there in his furrowed brow, the tilt of his head as he puffs angrily at his pipe, the way he's been staring at the same page of his book for at least twice as long as is customary. From Holmes's position in his chair he has an excellent view of it, Watson seated in the middle of the floor smoking and reading like usual, one leg tucked under him, his bad leg extended. Watson often ends up like this in Holmes's study on days when he has few or no patients and Holmes is in a relatively good mood, but only recently did it begin to pose a distraction. When things begin to distract Holmes, he begins to pay attention to them.

Watson turns the page eventually, although judging by the way his eyes narrow as they fall on the next, he didn't absorb much of it. As an experiment, Holmes uncrosses and recrosses his legs. Watson immediately bends over so his nose is buried even further in his book.

"Extraordinary," Holmes murmurs, breaking the silence he hadn't realized was growing so thick. Watson looks up sharply.

"Holmes?"

Holmes stands up at once and walks the bare two steps it takes to put him directly in front of Watson, dropping down to a crouch so they're at eye level. All traces of annoyance have drained from Watson's face, and he regards Holmes now with nothing but confusion and intrigue, setting his book down behind him.

"What are you--" Watson says, cutting off when Holmes leans forward, forcing Watson to fall back on the floor or risk their foreheads bumping.

Rather than answer, Holmes just crawls over him, dropping one hand to Watson's face and drawing his fingers along it, carefully. Watson knocks his own hat from his head and his pipe falls from his mouth in what Holmes recognizes as mild panic.

"Holmes, what in the name of God?"

"Quiet." Holmes doesn't feel bad about the reprimand; Watson knows full well not to interrupt him when he's concentrating. To Watson's credit, he obeys, freezing in place as Holmes strokes the whiskers on his chin, presses a thumb to his wild pulse. Even when Holmes accidentally knocks aside Watson's pipe, scattering tobacco and making a general mess, Watson doesn't move, and Holmes realizes he's scarcely seen the doctor this flustered before, even when faced with murderers and gunfire. He files that away somewhere to be better examined at a later date.

They remain in that position for longer than Holmes was expecting to be humored--minutes, maybe, although Holmes is too focused on the lines in Watson's forehead and the pattern of his breathing to keep accurate count. What troubles him is that it doesn't seem to be getting him anywhere. Minutes of consideration and Holmes is still right where he started, vaguely perplexed and alarmed, like there's an intruder in his home but he can't pinpoint where or how he got in.

"I can't isolate it," Holmes says at last, still unwilling to move an inch.

Watson swallows, like his mouth needs wetting before he trusts himself to talk. "Isolate what?" he asks, voice rough.

"There's something," Holmes tries, drawing his thumb across Watson's cheek for emphasis, but he can't even find the right words to finish a sentence now. He closes his mouth, frustrated.

To his considerable surprise, it's Watson who seems to understand something at this. His eyes soften and he finally moves, lifting himself onto his elbows, bringing their faces close enough that Holmes should pull back. He doesn't.

" _Holmes_." Watson is the one who sounds reprimanding now.

"Oh," Holmes says, overcome with relief as the familiar wave of understanding washes over him, and he runs both hands through Watson's short hair and kisses him.

It's the solution to a problem and so it feels just right; feels so good, in fact, that Holmes moans a little and rocks forward, letting his weight settle more heavily in Watson's lap, Watson moaning right back. Holmes licks at Watson's lips and tongue and teeth, memorizing the feel of them, glad for these details he didn't know he was overlooking all this time. When he bites at Watson's lower lip, Watson gasps, just as Holmes hoped he would. When he drops a hand to the hem of Watson's trousers and begins to tug at Watson's shirt, tracing the firm muscles of his stomach, Watson grabs him by the shirt collar and pulls him closer, just as Holmes expected. When he bends lower and begins attacking Watson's neck, Watson suddenly pulls away and presses a hand to Holmes's chest, and that wasn't expected at all.

"Holmes," Watson rasps, and at once Holmes becomes aware of the way he's trembling.

Holmes curses and rolls off, horrified at himself for neglecting to notice the pressure he was applying to Watson's leg, the clues Watson was trying to give that it was bothering him. Watson grimaces and sits up, bending his knee gingerly. "Sorry," he says.

"Not at all," Holmes says, wiping his mouth and wondering when the rush of this one is going to wear off. He has no idea what to do with himself, feels ever-conscious of his movements and his appearance, and strangest of all, none of this bothers him.

He's about to voice as much when Watson takes him by surprise yet again, pushing Holmes to the floor and crawling over him in a swift change of positions, a smirk playing at his lips when Holmes's head smacks against the wood.

"This is better on my leg," Watson insists, an obvious lie. Holmes predicts they have a minute, maybe two, before this position starts to bother Watson even more and they have to change locations entirely. For the chair, maybe, or even the bed.

Holmes smiles. "Of course it is, Doctor," he says, pulling him down for another kiss. He doesn't intend to allow any further conversation from here on out--there's considerably more research to be done.

_end_


End file.
